Tambourines and such

I used to stand in the hallway of my house and stare at photos of myself with friends and family. There were between fifteen and twenty of them. I had hung them in a hallway just outside my bedroom. It was an old house with plaster walls and the nails hung loosely in the plaster so that the frames all seemed precariously tilted—as if they might come crashing down at any moment.

I would find myself passing them—on the way from the shower to my room, as I walked to the den, or on my way back from the kitchen. And often I would stop. Sometimes for as long as an hour. And stare. I would look at them intently. I was trying so hard to see if when I looked at the photos, I could read what was going on behind my eyes. So many of the pictures had been taken when I was hurting and messy and heavy inside. I wanted to see if I could see that behind the crinkles of smile lines and the big daughter-of-a-dentist grin.

And so I would stare. I would turn my head to the side, slump on the floor and lean in close. It was a habit I didn’t even realize I’d had until I moved out of the house. At the time, I thought I did it because I was fascinated by the idea of being able to cover that kind of pain. Now I think I did it because I was hoping maybe someone would notice the intense hurt that still hid behind loud laughs and wide smiles.

I don’t look at photographs like that anymore. Now, I feel a joy that I know comes completely from a Savior who comforted me so consistently for so long that one day the smiles were real and behind the eyes was exactly what was in them: laughter.

In that same hall, across from my wall of photos, there was a closet. We used it for linens and a vacuum and our shared full-length mirror. The mirror was hung on the inside of the door and was my roommate’s. Scrawled across its top was a verse from Jeremiah 3: Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful. For months, while I stared at those photos, leaning against the closet door, God’s promise of new hope and happiness was just on the other side.

My life’s not perfect now. I can’t say I don’t even occasionally pause over photographs. But my God has changed many things for me. And these days, I’d say I’m dancing with the joyful.